


Captivity Interactions

by wasabi_31



Category: All the Money in the World (2017)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Intercrural Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, POV Second Person, Spoilers, mentions of forced amputation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-08 20:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasabi_31/pseuds/wasabi_31
Summary: Set at the night the second ransom note was sent to Rome newspaper.





	Captivity Interactions

**Author's Note:**

> I only watched the movie once in cinema and lacked the video for solid references. All descriptions are based entirely on my unreliable memories and please point out if you see any obvious mistake. Also this is my first time writing a fic in English and I hope things make sense most of the time _(:з」∠)_
> 
> This is a work of fiction inspired by the 2017 Ridley Scott feature film and not by any means intended as an portrayal of real people or events.

It was particularly cold after dark. The boy still got fever and could not contain his shivers.

You gathered him further into your arms then pulled the old blanket tighter around you both.

He whined but was too weak to protest otherwise, after failed attempt at escaping, the doctor's operation and exhaustion caused by his healing process.

You helped them cut off his ear, took his bloody picture, wrapped everything up and tied with a strain, then mailed it by post. So his supposedly filthy rich family should finally learn you mean business and hurry up on paying ransom, just when you thought you couldn't sink any lower as a human being .

If it'd been up to you, the boy would be set free by now. You saw him running beyond the roaring flame and wished this could be it, the last time you saw him in the flesh. The sight of his slim back and blonde hair disappearing into the distance was a quite fitting farewell. Too much had lost and no amount of money could bring back your dead  partners in crime, however bad terms you were on before the plans all went to hell, you'd always prefer them alive and breathing.

If only the world had been about what you would want for once.

Since there was no turning back, you would have to guard him as well as you could manage. If not for anything else, just so you could get a little sleep at night knowing he’s safe and sound, until the whole irreversible chaos was over.

You closed your eyes. They were sore from staring into the dim barn for so long over the boy’s narrow shoulder. 

You wondered why this was the time you started to grow an inconvenient conscience.

He was certainly no angel. You followed him for months before the job and had learned his “life style”, not as luxurious and dazzling as you and your accomplices had imagined but involved fair share of unholy hour idling and an obscene amount of alcohol and recreational drugs.

His family might not want him back in one piece after all.

But he felt so vulnerable against you now, burning like a furnace, curling into fetus position. The bandages covered the side of his head, underneath which a black hole that used to be his ear. 

You'd never forget the scared pale look of him earlier, along with his screaming and desperate struggling.  He had been nothing but cooperative up till he set up a fire and tried to run, on bare foot. Yet you never witnessed him fighting back, you were used to his passive but cautious attitude around your gang. When you two were talking his voice was always quiet and cracked a little from drinking not much water. He was clever enough to not get on your bad sides for so long, such a clever boy for a spoiled little shit you all assumed he’d be.

He had succeeded in putting himself in check for so long, right until the moment it dawned on him that actual harm was inevitable and this time there would be no one to put a bullet in the executioner’s head.

You were reminded of your place in all this. You were among the executioners. You were after his family’s money. As the situation dragging out longer and longer than it was strictly necessary, all of you would suffer immensely from the undesired consequence. That was the moment when you knew, despite of your best intention to survive you could not do it without sending him back to safety. Your guilt alone would eat you raw if things dared to unfold otherwise.

You had held his gaze up until he could no longer kept his eyes open. He fainted from the pain and didn’t come around after a couple of hours, during which you patched him up and chained him back to the rusty bed frame using the shackles.

Then you had to leave. You needed a cigarette, a drink, a few moments away from everyone else. Were there a feeble fragile thing even remotely like trust between the two of you, it would have been gone after that. That was a chilling thought and from your crumbling position you doubted how much protection you might be able to offer.

You just had to hold on to him tighter. You just wanted to hold him really tight at this moment.

He grunted a bit but there was no further indication that he was conscious. You could barely feel his breath against your stubbed jaw. Judging by his creased forehead and fluttering eye lids, even though he caught some sleep it was still very troubled, probably with discomfort of the fever and a bone deep fatigue.

You kind of could relate to the later, although besides your conflicted mind, your restlessness was also fueled by some other unsettling part of your body.

You’d always been proud of your endurance of boredom on jobs, reducing your needs to a degree of almost self-deprivation. Indulgence would lead to sloppiness and mistakes, and those things got you caught. It had been months since you were this close to someone, physically, and that fact was doing things to your neglected libido. At the realization you tried to untangle from the boy a little but still stayed covered by the blanket you shared.

Unexpectedly, he followed your movement in his sleep, his hair brushed over the patch of skin over your collar, causing an itchy but alluring sensation. You couldn’t help the sigh you let out and cursed inwardly. You were laying face to face, resembling two pieces of jigsaw puzzle but weren’t really touching. You would fit so well if you just drew him a little closer, his head over your shoulder, your hand at his waist, your legs…

You were shocked by the image you painted in your head and you wanted to be sick. But your dick absolutely got a mind of its own and throbbed to get your attention.

His whole figure was soft and languid. His hands tugged close to his chest. You were so close you could see his parted lips even with only the little strayed starlight shining through the cardboard gaps. Your hands started to move on their own accord, pulled back a few strands of his dusty blonde hair then proceeded to move under the collar of his thin T-shirt, to his hunched shoulder blades, your calloused palm gaining access to his flawless tender skin.

He jerked forward and groaned, eyes opened a slit, instinctively tried to push you off. Your other hand gathered at the base of his skull, pinned his face to the hollow of your neck, minding his wound to stay facing up.

“Shhh…”you whispered, inhaled deeply against the top of his head, “it is me, only me.”

He paused a bit, then started to pound your chest with his fists with all his strength, not that at his current condition you would feel anything other than a dull thump. Your poking hand reached the small of his back, grabbing his waist and using your weight to pin him down, caged his arms between your bodies.

His legs were still moving and almost got you in the guts. You were quicker and more lucid, shoved one knee at his groin and climbed half on top. You thumbed the corner of his mouth, leaned in and breathed at the side of his face. “Shhh…still, just don’t move…shhh…”

After a few panting moments, the fight left him and one drop of tear rolled down his cheek. You kissed it away, still making coaxing nonsense noises, started to rub your hard-on against his thigh.

This was who you were, after all, a perpetrator and criminal. This had always been the only possible scenario for which your paths could have come across, you forcing your way in.

There were cries choked up in his throat. He seemed determined to utter as little voice as possible, not to turn you on than you already had been, perhaps. You mouthed at the side of his neck, at his one good ear, feeling his each and every tremble, then an incredible rush of remorse.

Your hand at his waist dropped to his hip. You hauled one of his knees up, let it curl around you as much as the shackles would allow and speeded up your thrusts. Your clothed erection trapped between his skinny thighs, the fraction almost too raw to be enjoyable considering the rough texture of your pants, but it suited you just fine. It was not pleasure you were after you realized. You were seeking punishment, acting out your self-resentment.

You wanted him to hate you for hurting him in every foreseeable ways. You wanted him to remember you as the low-life you really were.

He just lied there still, let you take whatever there was to take, a few sharp in-takes of breath here and there, drowned by the squeaking of the bed frame and dangling of the chains.

There was an unfamiliar burn behind your eyes. You had forgotten the last time you felt this miserable.

He managed to grab your wrist with both hands at some point, at the one hand you left threading his hair to hold his head upright. His knuckles went white and some suppressed whine broke out of his throat. You thought he would try to push you off again and clasped even harder, but he didn’t.

He just held on, nails bit into your skin, eyes unfocused and lips quivering, chest heaving.

You were dazed, could barely see straight, and it took you so long to make out that he was trying to tell you something. You wouldn’t know how to react. You were moving with abandon now. You were getting so close to the tipping point you could taste it at the back of your mouth.

Please.

You read his lips.

Please don’t.

You froze in mid-motion. Regret washed all over you although the damage was done. On the contrary your aching cock would have none of it and twitched angrily to demand your action.

You let go of his leg and brutally shoved your hand down your pants. Merely took you a few second to come with a throaty groan.

Beneath you he went all limp. He carefully stretched out his leg and tried to tune his breath back down.

You came down yourself minutes later, with sweat trailing down your back and a cold night breeze, you realized you had shoved the blanket half-off. You immediately went to tug him in again but your dominant hand was now covered with scum.

You hesitated, then without further consideration wiped your hand at the hem of his T-shirt.

He stared at you, though there was no visible protest, just void and tiredness.

You lied down behind him, pillowed your head on one elbow. Beard burn was blossoming over his neck and chin. You thought about negotiate you two a bath next morning and by the afternoon you would need to hit the town. You had newspapers to buy.

-The End-

**Author's Note:**

> First half posted on January 24th, 2018.


End file.
